Cas. Who can hear this and bear an equal mind? Since you will drive me from you, I must go: But, O Monimia! when thou hast banish'd me, No creeping slave, though tractable and dull As artful woman for her ends would choose, Shall ever dote as I have done. Mon. Castalio, stay! we must not part. I find My rage ebbs out, and love flows in apace. These little quarrels love must needs forgive. Oh! charm me with the music of thy tongue, I'm ne'er so blest as when I hear thy vows, And listen to the language of thy heart. Cas. Where am I? Surely, Paradise is round me! Sweets planted by the hand of heaven grow here, And every sense is full of thy perfection. Sure, framing thee, heaven took unusual care;} As its own beauty it design'd thee fair, And form'd thee by the best lov'd angel there. [exeunt. ACT THE THIRD. SCENE I. A GARDEN. Enter Polydore and Page. Pol. Were they so kind? Express it to me all In words; 'twill make me think I saw it too. Page. At first I thought they had been mortal foes: Monimia rag'd, Castalio grew disturb'd: Each thought the other wrong'd; yet both so haughty, They scorn'd submission, though love all the while The rebel play'd, and scarce could be contain'd. Pol. But what succeeded? Page. Oh, 'twas wondrous pretty! For of a sudden all the storm was past: A gentle calm of love succeeded it: Monimia sigh'd and blush'd; Castalio swore; As you, my lord, I well remember, did To my young sister, in the orange grove, When I was first preferr'd to be your page. Pol. Boy, go to your chamber, and prepare your lute. [exit Page. Happy Castalio! now, by my great soul, My ambitious soul, that languishes to glory, I'll have her yet; by my best hopes, I will; She shall be mine, in spite of all her arts. But for Castalio, why was I refus'd? Has he supplanted me by some foul play? Traduc'd my honour? death! he durst not do't. It must be so: we parted, and he met her, Half to compliance brought by me; surpris'd Her sinking virtue, till she yielded quite. So poachers pick up tir'd game, While the fair hunter's cheated of his prey. Boy! Enter a Servant. Serv. Oh, the unhappiest tidings tongue e'er told! Pol. The matter? Serv. Oh! your father, my good master, As with his guests he sat in mirth rais'd high, And chas'd the goblet round the joyful board, A sudden trembling seiz'd on all his limbs; His eyes distorted grew, his visage pale, His speech forsook him, life itself seem'd fled, And all his friends are waiting now about him. Enter Acasto and Attendants. Acas. Support me, give me air, I'll yet recover. 'Twas but a slip decaying nature made; For she grows weary near her journey's end. Where are my sons? come near, my Polydore! Your brother—where's Castalio? Serv. My lord, I've search'd, as you commanded, all the house! He and Monimia are not to be found.